


Warmth

by RosexKnight



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosexKnight/pseuds/RosexKnight
Summary: Admitting to Jefferson that he’d never felt the warmth of a woman was not the worst thing Gold could have done...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (( I have no idea where this came from but it’s 1am and it didn’t leave me alone until I wrote it so here’s the first chapter out of two or three most likely. ))

“No.”

“You were the one who--”

“Absolutely not.”

Mr. Gold’s tone was firm, giving no room for argument. The other man only chuckled as he leaned against the display counter in the pawn shop. Really, he should have known to expect this sort of push back, but Jefferson Hatter was often considered mad, and so he continued to press despite the most powerful man in town glaring at him from across the counter.

“I thought you’d be interested is all.” Jefferson said, sliding the business card he’d produced back towards Gold. “You were the one who mentioned it the other night at the bar.”

“After four glasses of scotch and three shots of whiskey.” Gold shot back. “I’m not interested in prostitutes, Jeff.”

“When I told you I knew some girls I didn’t mean like that. She’s not a prostitute.” Jefferson defended. “She’s just part of the group I know. They all use pseudonyms to keep things simple and worry-free so they don’t have to deal with the judgemental stares. There’s even a contract they write up if that makes you feel better. No strings ever attached. She’s just a girl who would rather remain anonymous and enjoys--”

“Absolutely not.”

Jefferson sighed, giving his signature top hat a twirl in his hand before shrugging. “Alright, Gold. Suit yourself.” He slid the business card closer to the other man, though. “In case you change your mind. I think she’s be a good fit for you.”

The bell above the door rang, bidding Jefferson farewell in a much more cheerful tone than Gold’s venomous glare. He groaned, running his hand through his hair as he all but collapsed into the small chair behind the counter. He should have never let it slip that he was still a virgin, let alone to Jefferson. He should have known better. But he’d been lonely and drunk and admitting that he’d never felt the warmth of a woman wasn’t the worst thing he could have admitted to Jefferson. Still, he hadn’t expected his friend to remember that fact, much less act upon it.

His eyes fell on the business card before him. On the front was Jefferson’s usual contact information, but the back had someone else’s contact information entirely. In neat blue ink “The Beauty” was written out, with an email address he could send a message to. The name must have been a pseudonym, as Jefferson had explained, and Gold found it a tad presumptuous. He wondered if it was the woman who called herself that or if it wasn’t one of Jefferson’s nicknames. Jefferson had a nickname for everyone, including this group of friends he had Gold presumed. He’d insisted that none of them were prostitutes, and Gold assumed they had to be clean. He might have been a virgin but he’d certainly learned about STD’s and the like from the small bit of school he’d attended.

Gold sighed, turning to begin closing the shop for the day. It was early, but no one was coming by. It was rare that anyone came into the pawn shop to actually browse or buy any of his inventory. No, the shop was the den of the most ruthless man in Storybrooke. It was as off-limits as a dragon’s hoard. People only came when they needed to pay rent or deal for something. Deals were his specialty. Shopping never happened. Conversation never happened. Touch never happened. Never had. He was a cruel miser with a limp and no heart. And if no one had touched him in over fifty years, why would this...business card woman be any different?

The bell over his door chimed again as he exited the shop, locking it for the night and slipping the key into his jacket pocket where the business card he still hadn’t tore to pieces like any sensible person would weighed heavily. He’d go home, take a hot bath, and then a cold one. He’d find release in his hand as always and that would be that.

“Closing early, Mr. Gold?”

The voice made him tense. Her voice always did. Not in an unpleasant way, however. Isabelle French was one of the two people in town who were never unpleasant. Like Jefferson, the town librarian was one of the few people immune to his reach of real estate, which was most likely the reason WHY she was never unpleasant. It didn’t matter to Gold. She never showed him any sort of distaste. She was always kind. She asked him about his day. She smiled at him. Her eyes were on him, and to him that was all that mattered. It was Tuesday night, which meant she’d closed the library and was currently walking to Granny’s for some kind of ritual with her group of girls.

“Just for today, Miss French.” He explained, turning to walk down the sidewalk to where his car was parked. Or rather, where Isabelle French assumed his car was parked. He always parked behind his shop, a safe place out of sight from the main streets. But if Isaelle French was walking somewhere, his car was in the same direction.

“Is everything alright?” She asked, her blue eyes holding genuine concern.

His heart stuttered in his chest, and not for the first time he loathed his inexperience. How did one begin to speak to a beauty like Isabelle French? The correct answer (or rather, his answer) was that one did not. One listened as her accent flitted over the words and wove palaces out of paragraphs and only chimed in to ask her something that would let her continue that babble.

“My leg is simply sore.” He answered, leaning more heavily on his cane.

“Did you try that magnesium bath bomb I suggested? They’re supposed to help with soreness.”

“Not yet. How was your book club meeting?”

“Oh! It went great. We voted on the next book. Someone actually suggested The Scarlet Letter, which I adored but we have some younger people there and I wasn’t sure if they wanted to end up reading it more than once for…”

And that was all Gold needed. He allowed her to prattle on and on about book clubs and storytimes and the like. She stopped only to ask him the occasional question about his shop, and his answer was always the same. Not short, but not as eloquent as her words. They reached Granny’s far too soon, and just like that, she was bidding him goodnight with a smile. She was feeling daring tonight, going so far as to hug him before crossing the street and disappearing into the bed and breakfast. For a glorious moment, Isabelle French was in his arms, holding him to her, and then she was gone, and he loathed the tightening in his pants.

As he turned to walk back to his car and proceed with that night’s plans, the weight of the business card in his pocket grew heavier. How could he possibly write to any woman convincing them to bed him for the night when he couldn’t even talk to...well, Isabelle French wasn’t any woman. His tongue still swelled in his mouth whenever he tried to speak to her and a simple hug had him already half hard! It was pathetic. No matter how much they enjoyed sex, no woman would…

But then, maybe he had it backwards. Perhaps he couldn’t talk to Isabelle French BECAUSE he was a virgin. He imagined experience made one more confident when talking to the opposite sex. He doubted he’d ever be able to be the confident, suave, dashing man Isabelle French deserved, but perhaps...Perhaps with experience he might could try.

At the very least, he was a few decades overdue for the warmth of a woman, and if a no-strings-attached night could allow him to say more than three sentences to Storybrooke’s perfect librarian. Well...it was worth a shot. Like it or not, he’d have to add sending an email to this business card woman to his plans for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, the cold bath never happened. When Gold got home, he spent the better part of an hour sending a very short email to the address on the business card Jefferson had given him. He had no idea how one sent an email propositioning a girl. Of course, it was less of a proposition and more of a deal. Jeff had pointed that out. Deals he could do. In the end his email was only three sentences. One introducing himself. One explaining that he'd gotten her information from Jefferson and that he said they'd make a good fit, and one asking if she would like to meet that weekend. That was safe right? He hadn't told her of his inexperience, and that somehow felt like cheating. But he supposed if she didn't ask then he wasn't lying, and that was fine.

She didn't reply right away, and by the time he'd eaten dinner and poured himself a glass of gin to go with his bath, his messages were still empty. It wasn't until he was running the hot water that his phone chimed with her reply. She seemed friendly enough in her email, greeting him easily and asking the usual questions like how old he was and what he was interested in. He winced. He'd rather not give his age. What would she think him then? Just some perverted old man seeking a thrill. Miraculously, she didn't ask of his experience, and he could not have been more grateful. He replied to her as he climbed into the steaming water. He informed her that he was in his early fifties, though didn't give an exact number, and told her that he'd be perfectly happy with anything she wished. He added he didn't do things like this often, hoping that helped his case. It wasn't a total lie. Her reply this time was instant, suggesting they meet in a small café in New York she liked for lunch, which he assumed would develop into...more.

It was only when he sent his confirming reply that he relaxed. It was done. By the end of the week, he'd be an experienced man. The warm water relaxed his muscles, and Gold idly considered looking into the bath bomb that Isabelle had suggested. He'd no idea what the name of it was, only that her voice sounded magnificent when the word was pronounced. And the simple gesture of looking out for him was enough to make his chest warm.

The thought of Isabelle French had his member twitching anew. Normally, he saved this act for later, when it was dark and he didn’t have to see himself. But the images of Isabelle French dancing behind his eyelids was too much. If he were a braver man, he’d have asked her out to dinner ages ago. And perhaps if he were a younger man she'd be here. With him. It would be her hand around his length beneath the water. Small and dainty and smooth. And she'd say his name in that damn voice of hers and…

He shivered as he came into the water, taking his fingers through his hair. By Saturday, there would be no more of this. He would be experienced and he could ask Isabelle French out properly. Yes. He just had to wait four days. He could do that.

~

Wednesday had him excited at the prospects. The day was bright and dry and he'd woken up to an email from the business card woman confirming their meeting on Saturday. The anticipation made him smile despite the nervous thumping of his heart in his chest.

On Thursday Jefferson sent him a congratulatory text and the nerves mixed with the lingering anticipation. What if she didn't like him? She hadn't asked for a picture. He couldn't possibly measure up to others she'd bedded. He was sure to let her down in the end.

On Friday she'd sent him a message letting him know she'd booked a hotel room for the next day, and he was all nerves. This had been a terrible idea. What had he been thinking? He was going to meet her and be laughed out of the cafe. Out of New York. And for what? So he could finally lose his v-card?

Well, no. That wasn't entirely the reason. His eyes glanced out the window to where the library lay across the street. Isabelle French was sitting inside, behind the circulation desk. Probably reading something. Idly, he wondered if she ever read any of the many romance novels he'd seen in the library. On duty. With her hand between her--

“Get a hold of yourself, Gold.” He mumbled to himself, turning back to his books to distract himself. Numbers were easy. There was nothing sexy about numbers. It was the perfect distraction to hold him over for the rest of the night.

As the sun set and the numbers started to blur together and the dust on his collectibles was swept away, another thought crossed his mind. The only reason he'd considered this WAS because he couldn't carry a full conversation with Isabelle French. But perhaps...perhaps if he did then he wouldn't have to go through with it. He could email the business card woman to tell her that he was terribly sorry. That something had come up. That he in fact didn't need her after all. And what did he have to be afraid of anyway? She was only a librarian.

He could totally talk to a librarian.

The butterflies in his stomach began to flutter anew as he moved to close down the shop. It was early, but that was perfect. The library wouldn't close for another hour. Perhaps he could talk to Isabelle French. Have a conversation that wasn't so one-sided. Be able to tell her of the antique books he'd gotten in and how to restore their leather bindings. Perhaps he could even tempt her away. Yes. Yes he could do this.

As he reached the library doors, however, his stomach sank. The lights were off, the sign reading closed, a little note in Isabelle French’s perfect handwriting reading “Gone to a book signing. Will be back on Monday.” Part of him was comforted by knowing that he might not have to humiliate himself in front of the perfect librarian that day. The other part of him wanted to slap whatever author it was for ruining his chances of a weekend with Isabelle French.

His phone chimed as he turned back to his shop, and he glared at the screen. The business card woman had reserved their room, and was making sure he was okay with her selection in hotel and the cost. He spared one glance at the library. He could still end it. He could tell her something came up and try again with Isabelle French next week. But then, a woman like Isabelle French deserved an experienced man. A man who could please her. After this weekend, he could be that. If a night with the business card woman was what it took, then so be it.

“That sounds lovely, dearie.” He typed back. “What's the address of the cafe again?”

There was no turning back. If this was what led to the experience he needed for the courage he needed to talk to Isabelle French, so be it.

~

Gold had never heard of The Chipped Teacup, which surprised him since the café was quite easy to find with the address the business card woman provided. He wondered if the reason she'd chosen this location was because of the convenient location of their hotel across the street. It loomed over him like a foreboding obelisk, and he straightened his tie for the millionth time.

She'd told him to wear something that would stand out so she could find him, like wearing a purple tie. He'd responded with a far-too-descriptive explanation of what he'd planned to wear, right down to his loafers. He leaned on his cane, wondering if he should have mentioned that at all. Being in his early fifties was one thing. Being in his early fifties with a cane was another. The last thing he wanted was to see pity in her eyes. He took a breath, his eyes darting around, trying to spot any other men possibly fitting his description. It dawned on him that he should have asked her what she was wearing. He couldn’t have looked very good, standing there waiting for someone in his three-piece suit and purple tie. Gold adjusted it once again, re-focusing his mind. After today he wouldn’t be a virgin, and he could forget all about what he was about to do and focus on Isa--

“Mr. Gold?”

The voice to his left made him practically leap out of his skin. That honey-sweet voice that was far too close. He had to have heard wrong. He was starting to go senile. Wishful thinking was making him insane. That was all. When he turned, however, his skin felt tight. Isabelle French, looking like perfection in a blue and gold sundress, was tilting her head at him.

“H-hello Miss French.” He stammered. She was simply passing by. That was all. There were many people going in and out of the cafe. What was why she was there. He simply had to buy time. Then slip off with the business card woman once she appeared before Belle could get the wrong idea. Still, she was looking at him. He had to say something. Something easy. Something safe. “How was the, uh, book signing?”

“It was, uh…” Her eyes flickered away. Then to his tie. Then down to his loafers. Oh no. “It wasn't what I expected.”

He needed to run.

“Do you want to have a drink?” She asked, stepping closer to the entrance of the cafe.

No. “I...sure.”

Gold’s legs moved on their own as he followed Isabelle French into the cafe. They served tea. Tea. Tea was fine. Tea was safe. He could do tea. He could do tea and then he could leave and never speak to Isabelle French ever again. That was fine. Then, at least, she’d never know. If this was the way he got the experience that led to the courage up to talk to Isabelle French, he wasn't sure he wanted it anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

“I uh...I suppose I should have realized who you were by your nickname.”

Her voice broke through the silence that had drifted over them after they ordered their tea. Gold raised a brow at her, the confusion of her statement penetrating his nerves.

“Nickname?”

“Your pseudonym. Jefferson called you ‘Rumpelstiltskin.’ He's the one that usually does the nicknaming.”

“Ah. Yours suited as well.” The Beauty. Belle. Isabelle French. Really, he was a fool for not seeing it sooner and running when he had the chance. Come tomorrow he’d kill Jefferson.

Their tea came, and the warmth of it in his hands did comfort him a bit. Across from him, Isabelle French seemed just as nervous, sipping her tea with a fruity aroma as her eyes darted around to take in the scenery of the cafe.

“This is my favorite place.” She said finally. “It's family owned. It reminds me a lot of Storybrooke. But I don't feel like a bug under a microscope.”

“Storybrooke does enjoy talking.” Gold said. His tea was herbal, and he vaguely remembered ordering Camomile. His muscles relaxed as he drank, though it did little for the flock of butterflies in his stomach.

“I suppose you hear a lot of things.”

“It depends on what people are willing to tell for whatever they want.” He paused. “I never hear anything about you.”

 

Isabelle French smiled, and Gold’s chest swelled. Somehow, he’d made her smile. And they were alone. Like a real and proper date and not two strangers that had met because...He swallowed, his tongue suddenly feeling heavy in his mouth again, and he took another sip of his tea to calm himself down.

“I don’t, uh, do this often.” Isabelle French’s voice came. “I’m not sure what Jefferson told you about, uh, arrangements.”

“Nothing.” Gold blurted. It wasn't a total lie. “No, uh, details.”

“Ah. Good. Good thing. I didn't want you to think…”

“Never.”

The look she gave him from over her cup was almost sheepish, and Gold wondered if she could hear his heart as it pounded in his chest. Probably not. He was wearing three layers of clothing.

He cleared his throat “How did you come to find this place?”

Her eyes lit up as she launched into an explanation about getting lost one day after a real book signing and stumbling across it. Immediately, Gold relaxed. This was better. Isabelle French was across from him, and even though his tea was disappearing from his cup and the hotel was still looming over them, she was talking, babbling endlessly as she always seemed to do. She stopped only to ask him about his day and how his trip to New York went. Gold opened his mouth to reply, but then the check appeared, and it all became far too real for him.

Isabelle French was across from him. They'd just finished tea. A date. And he wasn't going back to the looming hotel with some stranger off a business card. He was going with Isabelle French. And then he would disappoint her with his lack of experience and she'd never talk to him again.

He couldn't do this.

“Miss French…” He started, trying to sound firm as he fumbled out his wallet to pay for their tea. “I…”

“Isabelle.” She corrected immediately. “You can call me Isabelle. Or just Belle. Whichever you prefer.”

“Right. B-Belle.” Oh but the name felt perfect on his tongue. “We, ah, don't have to...do anything, if you prefer. This was great. This was...enough.”

Isabelle Fr - Belle’s - brows furrowed. “Did you not want to?”

“No!” He blurted, running his hands through his hair as her expression turned even more confused. His stomach churned as one by one his nerves were frayed by the way her perfect blue eyes searched him. “That's not what I meant.”

Belle nodded, but her gaze held no pity or mal intent. “Jefferson said it might have been a while. For you.”

Gold’s bones went cold. “What else did he say?”

“Nothing. That was all.”

He only nodded, trying to steady his heart and keep the trembling out of his hands. Belle stood, offering him her hand to help him stand without his cane.

“I got you something, though.” She said. “Why don't you come to my room so I can give it to you? Then we can, uh, see how things go?”

There was that sheepish look again. And the way she took her bottom lip between her teeth to chew on it had something flare in his core. Deftly, he nodded. Because he was powerless to do anything else. Because her eyes were on him and even if he didn't end up getting the experience he thought he would be getting today, Isabelle French was allowing him to call her ‘Belle’ and that felt more intimate than sex ever could.

Belle intertwined their fingers as she guided him out of the cafe. She didn't let go as they waited for the street light to turn so they could cross the street. She even held their conjoined hands up proudly as the doorman of the hotel opened the door and the receptionists gave them a greeting. She didn't let go as they got to the elevator, or even when they got out of the elevator. Gold was so enraptured by the fact that she was holding his hand so easily as they walked, not even having to change her pace or stop to account for his limp, that he had barely noticed when she led him into her hotel room and finally let his hand go.

“Hold on I put it in my bag.”

All at once, his chest gave a clench. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to meet a friendly business card woman and then go home with all the confidence that came with experience to sweep Isabelle French off her feet. Instead, now, he was standing in the middle of her hotel room, beside one of the perfectly made beds as she rummaged through a duffel bag that was on the other bed. He was ill-prepared for any of this. He couldn't do this. He could live with disappointing a stranger with his inexperience but not Belle. Never Belle. He'd run. He'd tell her he wanted to but he wasn't feeling well and thank her for the opportunity and--

“Gold?”

When he blinked, she was standing in front of him again, her blue eyes searching him, looking concerned. He managed to clear his throat, and that satisfied her.

“Here.” Belle said easily, holding up a white, sandy ball wrapped in a plastic baggie.

Gold didn't move, only looked at it lamely. “What is it?”

“It's a magnesium bath bomb.” Belle said. “I'm not sure how often you take baths, so I only got a couple. But it's supposed to help with muscles and you're always complaining about your leg so I thought, if you use this on rainy days it would help. The ingredients are all natural, and you can find them in…”

Belle continued, her perfect accent diving and sliding over something about natural herbs and warm water and maybe seaweed? Gold, however, was only fixated on one simple fact: Isabelle French had come to New York to meet with a man for a one night stand, and had first gotten him something for his leg. She'd thought of him first.

“Belle…!” Gold stammered, reaching out to catch her around her waist and pull her to him. She gave a soft gasp, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. He froze before he could bring their lips together, his nerves suddenly frazzled. He'd moved to fast. Gone too far. He shook his head, letting her go. “I'm…”

Belle, miraculously, was smiling. “It's alright.” She said. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to babble.”

He shook his head again. “I don't mind.”

“I know.” She took her lip between her teeth again, and that was enough to distract him from her hands, which had moved to play with the knot of his tie. “Do you want to maybe...try out one of those bath bombs together?”

The thought of Belle, naked and wet in a tub of warm water with him had his mind flashing back to the previous night’s fantasy. He gave a small whimper, only nodding lest his swollen tongue betray him.

“Yes?” She coaxed patiently, the sound of his tie sliding off mingling with her voice.

“Yes.” He managed. “Yes I would like that very much.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( First, I apologize with how long this chapter took me to get off. Halfway through writing it my fiance came back from deployment and, well, you can imagine where I've been the past week and a half. This chapter also just got away from me and I had to split it. The next one is halfway written already though so I promise the wait shouldn't be as long. Second, I apologize in advance for being a tease. I promise, it will be worth all of the antici.......

The water fizzed against his skin, murky white with the bath bomb’s magic. The warmth of it was heaven, but any effects it was supposed to have on his muscles were lost on him as Belle’s underwear dropped to the floor. He was unable to keep from staring, despite himself. He knew he must look like a man dying of thirst seeing a glass of ice water. Belle didn't seem to mind.

It occurred to him too late that he should have undressed her. Instead, she'd slipped off his tie and jacket and he'd hurried out of his shoes and socks and, he was fairly certain, the rest of his clothes as she filled the tub and dropped the bath bomb in. It was all a blur to him until her hand touched his bare shoulder, guiding him into the tub.

Her skin was pale. Creamy. Gold’s mouth went dry at the sight of it. She was perfection. Her breasts were perky and round and the curve of her back gave way to her buttocks amazingly. He'd never imagined anything could be more glorious than the body of Isabelle French. But then she was moving, stepping towards the tub.

Belle hummed as she stepped in the water. Gold gulped, moving to bring his knees up to give her room.

“No, no. Just sit back.” She said, turning the running water off without so much as looking at the faucet handle.

He followed her instructions, sitting back against the wall of the tub. Belle turned to sit between his legs, her knees drawn up as she settled back against him. There was just enough room for the two of them.

“This okay?” She asked, sitting back against his chest.

It was cramped. Muggy. But Belle’s skin was soft against his and her weight on him was something amazing. It was only when she gave a sigh that he willed his body to relax, little by little, giving in to the sensations of the water and fizzing bath bomb. Eventually, Belle lifted a hand to rest the back of it against his shoulder. It took him a moment before he realized he was supposed to hold it. She squeezed his fingers, her thumb drawing nonsense patterns against his skin. For a long moment, they simply sat there in silence, and Gold let his eyes flutter shut. Isabelle French was naked in a tub with him. This was better than any fantasy he could have ever dreamed up, and so much more intimate than he could have ever known. If nothing else happened that night, he could die a happy man.

“How's your leg?” Belle’s voice came.

It took a moment for His mouth to form the correct words, and he nearly forgot how to speak altogether when her other hand moved to rest on his knee under the water.

“It's fine.” Gold managed. “H-how are you?”

That was a stupid thing to say, but Belle giggled anyway. “I'm perfect.” She shifted, settling more against his back. “I don't get to take baths often. I just don't usually have the time. But when I do I try and use bath bombs. When you told me your leg bothered you when it's too rainy I did research on what would help muscles and bones and bath bombs came up. I tried to make some but it didn't work out so then...oh. I'm babbling again.”

Her hair tickled his chin as he shook his head. He could faintly smell whatever rose perfume she’d worn over the scent of the bath. “I don't mind.”

“Some do.” She began mimicking the patterns she was tracing on his fingers on his bad knee and that action alone made his bones tremble. Gold’s hands itched to touch her, but he had no idea where to start. “I'm glad you don't mind.”

“I like your voice.” Gold found himself saying, the words tumbling out on their own. Belle squeezed his hand again. Gold ran his free one through his hair. “Your accent is nice. And I...oh.”

He'd shifted away, awkwardly trying to not to disgrace himself as he made an attempt to talk to Isabelle French. However, she'd only shifted closer, and Gold blanched as he realized what he'd done.

He'd gone completely hard, and now his member was straining. It practically throbbed, happily sandwiched against Isabelle French’s lower back and his stomach.

“I-I'm sorry.” He said, his entire body freezing.

Belle turned to give him a smile. “You're naked in the bathtub with a woman. It's only natural.”

“A beautiful woman.” Gold corrected.

Her cheeks became a delicious shade of pink, and her look turned sheepish as it had before in the cafe. She moved, and for a moment Gold mourned the loss of her on him until he realized what she was doing. She turned to face him, bringing her legs apart to straddle his lap and sit back on his thighs. Suddenly, everything about his desperate fantasy the night before crashed through his mind, and he was rendered motionless.

“This okay?” Belle asked, because he must have looked like a frightened schoolboy.

He nodded shakily, his body stiff as everything in his mind came to a screeching halt. Isabelle French was naked in a tub with him. Facing him. Smelling of roses and the bath bomb and perfection and his mind had absolutely no way to process that simple fact.

“Good.”

Belle’s eyes never left his as slowly, she leaned forward. There was a moment where she hesitated, her eyes searching his for something. He swallowed. Gathered what little courage he could muster. Inched forward. And suddenly their lips were together.

Kissing was good. Kissing he could do. Kissing he had done. But kissing Isabelle French was something entirely new. Her lips were soft and pliant, practically melting to his. It took him a moment to remember how to kiss properly, and by the time her tongue had traced his lips he was moaning into her mouth. She tasted of the fruity tea she'd drank and the roses of her perfume and something Gold couldn't quite put his finger on. He wasn't as experienced with french kissing, but Belle didn't seem to mind taking the lead. He mimicked her movements, his hands white-knuckled on the sides of the tub. He should move one. That's how it was done, right? He should move his right hand and put it on her waist. Not too low. She'd think he was too forward. Perhaps the small of her back. Or was that too intimate?

An odd sort of strangled yelp echoed through the room, and it took Gold a moment to realize it had come from him. His arm had slid off the side of the tub in his surprise, and his heart stopped when he realized what was happening.

Isabelle French was touching him.

“Are you okay?” She asked, frozen in place. As if she'd done something wrong, laughable as that was.

Realizing how he must look, Gold forced himself to relax. As much as he could, at least. When he was settled back into the tub and felt as if he wouldn't jump out of his own skin he groaned. Her hand was soft. And warm even under the water. His head was foggy with sensations. For a moment, he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t going to finish right then and there. But then Belle shifted, her thumb stroking a wonderful spot below his head and he bit back a groan as that motion grounded him.

“Are you okay?” Belle repeated, her grip loosening

Gold nodded after he was confident the sensations her thumb was bringing wouldn't overtake him. The last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself.

“Yes!” He managed, too afraid she’d leave the moment altogether if he didn’t say something. “Just startled.”

Belle’s hand moved again, encircling his shaft and giving his underside a small stroke with her thumb. He whined, his eyes fluttering closed. Her hands were so much better than he could have imagined. Soft and warm and perfect.

“Easy, Gold. Let me take care of you.”

Her tone was teasing, but Gold groaned. He raked his fingers through his hair, practically yanking it out of his scalp. Belle’s lips suddenly met his chest and then neck and jaw until finally she was brushing them against his lips. Gold could have wept with how sweet her hands were as one moved to replace his in his hair and her other continued her ministrations. Her strokes were becoming harder. Firmer. More confident. But never too overwhelming. Her damp fingers raked over his scalp, soothing whatever pain he caused.

Even if she stopped altogether he was fairly certain he could finish off with the memory of her touch alone.

“B-Belle.” Gold eventually croaked, trying to keep the words alive before her thumb moved again and he lost all ability to speak. He wasn’t going to last. He couldn’t. She had to stop or he’d go mad. “I--”

“It's okay.” Belle said, her tone sweet as she brought their lips together in a chaste kiss that demanded he look her in the eye. “Do you know I love the way you listen? The way you let me babble on about everything and are still able to remember everything I said? That you never seem disappointed when I go on for hours about what I adore? Do you have any idea how hard it is not to babble endlessly to my girls about you?”

She ran her tongue over his lips, and any form of protest to the whole bloody situation he had completely died on them. It took his mind a moment to process what she’d said, and she only smiled at his apparent confusion. Finally, Gold shook his head.

“I don't understand what you mean.”

“I LIKE you, Gold.”

His body shook, and Belle’s small surprised voice was the only thing he could comprehend over his orgasm. He’d climaxed by his own hand many times. Too many times. But feeling Belle’s hand and body and hearing her voice and knowing her scent and most of all hearing her voice was something altogether different. As he came down from it, his body went cold with dread. Isabelle French had just said she liked him in her flawless voice, and now he sat there wet and spent with the water between them murky for a completely different reason that the bath bomb had nothing to do with.

“I’m sorry.” Gold said, his eyes glancing over the bathroom, trying to find his escape route.

Belle didn’t move to let him escape, only brought her hands to his legs and traced soothing patterns. “Do you like being touched like that?”

“Very much so.” Gold nodded. He didn’t understand how she was still here after he’d humiliated himself. God, he’d barely touched her. “Let’s...I’ll pay for the room, Isa-- Belle. I...we don’t have to…”

Once again, Belle was looking at him as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle. “Are you leaving?”

He should. After all she LIKED him! He should leave now and be grateful that this was happening at all. But her eyes were boring into him and he found himself unable to move. Finally, Gold shook his head, but this only seemed to confuse Belle more.

“You...you like me. And I like you, Belle. Very much. This...complicates things. Doesn’t it?”

Surely it did. One-night stands didn’t happen if you LIKED each other.

Belle only shrugged. “It doesn't have to.” Seeming to sense his hesitation. She shifted her weight off his legs. “Why don't we dry off and move to the bed?”

Gold nodded, “Yes. Yes good idea.”

She stood, and Gold’s mouth watered anew at the sight of the way the water droplets cascaded over her body. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew some of his disgrace must have gotten on her, and something utterly primal in him adored that. She offered her hand, helping him out and ruffling his hair with a towel before she grabbed one for herself.

Her voice was sweet as she spoke, holding no judgements or pity. “It's been that long, huh?”

“Yes. I'm...sorry.”

“I don't understand how.”

“I'm a...difficult man to love.”

“Hopefully not a difficult one to make love to.”

Belle gave him a wink as she took his hand and guided him out of the bathroom towards the bed, allowing him to lean on her for support.

He was sure making love to him wouldn't be difficult, but all at once a new realization struck him. One that made him stumble as he very nearly froze in his tracks. He'd never be able to please her. Not properly. Not with his experience. This was a bad idea. Had always been a bad idea.

Gold simply could not disappoint Isabelle French. He needed to stop this before he thoroughly disappointed her and she changed her mind about liking him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .......pation))


	5. Chapter 5

“Why don't you ever talk about yourself, Gold?”

Isabelle French was laying beside him on the bed, her head tucked perfectly under the crook of his neck. She fit there like a puzzle piece. Her hair tickled his chin, and he was focusing on committing the moment to memory. Gold’s fingers twitched as Belle played with them.

“Nothing much to talk about.” He said.

It was easier to concentrate when her hands weren't on him, but Belle’s warm skin against his still made his chest stutter.

“Oh I doubt that. There has to be a reason you let me babble endlessly about myself and barely talk about you. Or at all…”

“I like to hear your voice.” He said, repeating himself. He didn't have the heart to admit what else he liked or that she made him as nervous as a schoolboy. Everything about Isabelle French radiated warmth. It was no wonder he'd fallen for her. “Your accent is quite unforgettable.”

“So is yours.” She turned to give him a smile. The angle was awkward, but just as lovely. “Sometimes you go very Scottish and I love it.”

Gold’s tongue suddenly felt swollen at the sight of her smile. “I do?”

Belle hummed, her fingers tracing his palm. “I babble when I'm nervous.”

That felt like a confession, and all at once his voice was stolen. Her tongue swelled up. His throat became sore. They made each other nervous. Because they liked each other. This was ridiculous. They were both adults. He should be able to talk to her, virgin or not! Gold swallowed. All he had to do was ask her to dinner. Then they could forget about this. Laugh about it in the end, when they were old in rocking chairs on his front porch.

“Belle...” Gold croaked out. She turned, propping herself on her elbow to look at him and lord why did she have to look at him? “Would you, uh...Perhaps. Like...dinner?”

Belle blinked at him. “Now?”

“Whenever you like.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he cleared his throat. “If...if you like. You like French Cuisine right? There's a lovely place on--”

Belle’s fingers found his chest, and Gold jolted at the touch. She'd leaned close to him, their noses brushing.

“I can think of something else I'd like for dinner…”

Her voice was a purr, and suddenly he was unable to do anything except tilt his head slightly, his pointed nose brushing the length of hers. Slowly, she moved as she had before in the tub, straddling him easily. She was leaning over him, and her hair fell around them like a curtain.

“B-Belle…” Gold hated how helpless his voice sounded.

“Shhh…” she soothed, the hand that wasn't in his coming up to card through his hair. “I've got you, Gold.”

The breath between their lips was closed by Belle easily, and it was her who was moaning into his mouth when he instantly opened for her. She pressed herself to him, her round, warm breasts brushing against his chest, demanding his attention. Gold’s head swam. His free hand moved to rest safely on her waist in an attempt to ground himself, but that proved to be a poor idea. Belle squirmed, allowing his touch to run over her of its own accord, and it was his turn to moan.

It was overwhelming. All curves and warmth and soft and perfect. He mimicked the way her tongue moved, his breath hitching when he found a spot that made her moan. He'd never get tired of the noise. Her hand tightened its grip in his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more of him. He wasn't sure if he could handle this. He couldn't. He was far too inexperienced. He was going to disappoint her. He needed to--

Belle’s hand moved from his hair to his free hand and guided it to her breast. His mind screeched, swerved out of control, and tumbled off a cliff. He was touching Isabelle French. And her breath hitched as if she welcomed that touch. The sight of his hand cupping her pale breast was intoxicating, and suddenly he had the urge to see his hands all over her.

The look he gave her must have been ridiculous, but Belle only gave him a smile and kissed him again, the hand that was laced around his squeezing encouragingly. He took the hint, giving her breast a tentative squeeze. When Belle moaned, he repeated the motion, careful not to squeeze too hard. Feeling rave, his thumb explored, and she hissed when he grazed her nipple. She didn't tell him to stop, however, so he continued, exploring one breast and then the other. He was thorough. Meticulous. He never wanted to forget the feeling of her at his touch or the way she looked with his hands on her.

Perhaps that was why he didn't feel her warmth on his tip until it was too late.

“I meant to drag this out…” Belle sounded apologetic. She brought his hand to her lips to kiss her knuckles. Gold couldn't breathe. “With how you're touching me I'm getting impatient.”

Isabelle French liked how he touched her. Isabelle French was poised above him. Isabelle French was smiling at him almost...longingly. Isabelle French wanted him.

Isabelle French was going to kill him.

He opened his mouth to stop her. To explain himself. But she leaned down, her lips brushing his so gently it stole his words. Belle hummed against his lips, but his voice came out in a whimper.

And then he was inside of her. He was inside of Isabelle French.

She moaned, clinging to him as she took him completely. Gold choked out a sound like a dying animal. Belle shifted, and Gold’s hands moved to her hips to stop her. Probably too rough.

“Don't move.” He choked.

Belle’s brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

She moved again, and Gold bit his tongue until he tasted copper to keep himself from coming apart.

“Gold?”

“Don't move.”

It was overwhelming. All warmth and wet and heat. She was tight and hot and perfect. It was bliss. Not just feeling her around him, her walls moving around him as if trying to welcome him. But being connected to her in the most intimate of ways. Not just some business card woman. Her. Isabelle French. Isabelle French wanted him. Was connected to him. He felt like his entire body was an exposed nerve, hyper aware of every inch of skin that was on him and the weight of her on his hips and the way her fingers carded through his hair and the sheer WARMTH of it all. His heart raced. His body shook.

It was too much.

“I'm fine, love.” Gold panted, trying to manage a smile for her. She was looking more worried by the second. “I only need a moment...it's been…”

Belle nodded, eyes searching him, trying to give him time to recover. As if that were possible. She shifted again, and he let out an involuntary hiss. She kissed his hand again, muttering for him to breathe by he couldn't find the breath.

“I…” He tried to apologize, before the overwhelming feeling of it all stole his breath away. He'd never FELT so before. Was this what it was like? “You're fine, sweetheart.” He tried soothing. “It's just been a while.”

Belle nodded, her brows still furrowing. “I understand I just hadn't realized. I'm sorry I was only trying to take care of you do didn't mean to go so fast. I didn't know how long it had been and…”

Gold felt the moment Isabelle French knew. Her voice trailed off. Her body stiffened. Which would have worried him if it didn't do amazing things to the place their bodies were connected.

When she spoke again her voice was soft. “Gold? Gold look at me…” He did only when she touched his cheek to force him to face her. “Is this your first time?”

Gold could deny it. Tell her it was his first time in twenty years. She'd believe that, wouldn't she? That no one would have touched him in twenty years? Or thirty? Or fifty? But they were still connected, with her making no move to end that. She'd know he was lying. Isabelle French would know him.

“Yes.” The word was almost a whisper. Inaudible except to them. “Yes it is.”

Gold braced himself for the scorn. For her to rip her body from his and leave him alone in the hotel room with only his hand and a memory. A sweet, sweet, glorious memory. But she didn't move, the furrows of her brow only growing thicker.

“How?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Belle said quickly, then blinked, seeming to assess the situation. “Let me get us into a better position. Would that be okay?”

Her words didn't quite connect with his brain. “Better...position?”

“Yes. For you. Or, did you want to stop?” Her hands began tracing that familiar pattern over his chest. "I know I went a little fast. If I'd known I wouldn't have taken the lead. I only wanted to take care of you a little. Make sure I pleased you…”

The fact that Isabelle French not only wanted him, knew of his inexperience, and was willing to still be with him that night was hard for him to process. Her wanting to please him was impossible. He decided not to try.

“I don't want to stop.” Gold said simply. “I just...I only want it to be good. For you.”

“It will be.” Belle said, and damn if she didn't sound sure. “Here…”

As she moved, she didn’t take her eyes off him. Slowly her heat left him, and the part of his body that wasn’t begging for it to return relaxed. Her eyes searched him for a moment. It was only when his breathing slow did she move, leaving her position atop him to lay beside him. Once settled back onto the pillows, she reached out, guiding him to lay atop he with a few touches.

“How’s your leg?” Belle asked.

He couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything but where their skin touched. “It’s fine.”

“Good.” She said with a smile.

Belle moved for a moment, shifting until her heat found his tip again, and he gasped. Her hands moved across his chest to his shoulder and finally into his hair. Belle must have known somehow that he liked that, because his body immediately ceased its trembling.

“Don’t forget to breathe.” He took a breath he’d been holding. “I’m all yours. Set your own pace. We have all night.”

“But…” Gold hesitated his mind racing with his heart. “What about you? You’re perfect, Belle I won’t last. I can’t. I just want you to enjoy it.”

Belle only shook her head, her thumb brushing his cheek. “It’s you. I’ll enjoy it. And later I’ll show you what else I like that you’ll definitely excel in if the rumors of your silver tongue are true.”

Gold’s mouth went dry. He felt his tongue swell in his mouth. Belle giggled, taking one of his hands in hers and giving it an encouraging squeeze. Gold swallowed. Isabelle French was below him, her legs around him. Isabelle French was going to be the first woman he was ever with. The only woman if he had any say in the matter. Her eyes remained on him as he hesitated for a moment, and then moved his hips, sliding home immediately.

The sensation was just as overwhelming as the first time he’d been inside of her, and he doubted he’d ever feel any different. Her moan was intoxicating. Her walls tight and slick and warm and amazing. It stole his breath and it was only Belle’s chest rising that reminded him to breathe. She was smiling up at him, her face deliciously flushed. Her breath had hitched, and she seemed to be trying to catch it.

“You feel so good.” She whispered, hand squeezing his again. Her other had entangled itself in the hair at the nape of his neck. We're her fingers trembling? “You have no idea.”

Gold chuckled, but it came out breathy and wrong. He was fairly certain he had a very good idea of he was making her feel half as good as he felt. He couldn't speak, but knew he didn't need to. Belle knew. Had to know. Had to feel how absolutely wonderful this was. If she never permitted him to look at her again, he would live the rest of his life in bliss with this moment engraved into his memory. Slowly, he moved out of her. He moaned at the sensation, quickly thrusting forward again to fill her. It was new and familiar and right and warm all at once.

It felt like home.

He barely made it another thrust before the sensations became too much, and he was quaking. His body shuddered as he tried to hold his climax at bay, but then Belle’s legs wrapped around him and he couldn’t hold back as he spilled inside of him.

“That’s it.” Belle whispered, squeezing his hand and hair and body and every part of him. “Breathe.”

He did, or tried to. His breaths came in ragged pants. Gold moved, pressing his forehead to Belle’s chest, revelling in her heartbeat. Something primal stirred inside of him. Something that wanted more of her. Wanted to claim her again. Needed to. She was perfect, and Gold was fairly certain now that he knew what being connected to her felt like, he’d never want to leave her warmth again.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but eventually biology caught up to him and he felt his hardness waver. Belle shifted, moving so that he could lay his head on her chest, arms wrapped around her middle.

“You’re amazing.” Gold whispered against her skin, his accent thick. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Belle giggled. “That was the only sex you’ve ever had.”

He chuckled, giving her side a tickle for punishment. “Details.”

“I have to ask…” Her voice trailed off. “Did you know it was going to be me? When Jefferson gave you the business card?”

“No.”

“Then, if you’d never...Why did you come? Did you not want your first time to be special?”

The implication that she’d tried to make it special for him was so sweet it nearly broke his heart, and when her arms left their spots from around him so she could sit up to get a better look at him, he whined.

“I was going to come for you.” He said. “So I could talk to you. Finally ask you out to dinner and court you. I can’t...Words come hard around you. I thought...if I had some experience…”

Belle caught his cheeks in her hand, dragging him up for a kiss. It was chaste, but the way she took his bottom lip between her teeth promised more later, and he couldn’t be more pleased.

“You want to court me, Gold?” She teased.

“More than anything.” He admitted, the words coming of their own accord.

“You mentioned dinner?”

“Wherever you like.”

“Let’s get cleaned up then.” She said. “You can court me and then we can come back and I can introduce you to oral.”

Gold blinked. Isabelle French had just promised to go down on him. Isabelle French was going to let him court her. He didn’t know which idea he loved more. Or which idea was more terrifying.

~

“Ah! Here you are, Belle.” Jefferson chimed as he stepped into the pawn shop.

Gold looked up from the counter where Belle had deposited a picnic basket only minutes ago, declaring they were going for a picnic. Storybrooke was all astir with the sight of them holding hands as he walked her to Granny’s for her book club on Tuesday. He wondered what they would say when the town saw them enjoying lunch in the park for all to see.

“Hello Jeff.” Belle said brightly.

“I wanted to ask how the...book signing went.” Jefferson was grinning ear to ear, looking between both of them. “I heard it was an interesting weekend?”

Gold gave the other man a glare, but Jefferson paid him no mind. Belle only rolled her eyes at him, though couldn’t supress her smile.

“Yes. It was quite nice. The signing went very well. I daresay I have a new favorite author.”

“Glad to hear it. What about you, Gold. How was your weekend? I trust there was plenty of...warmth?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Belle’s cheeks reddened. Gold only gave Jefferson a shrug, taking his cane in hand.

“Warmer than other weekends in New York. Do you not watch the weather?”

Jefferson hummed, glancing to Belle who had become fixated on something in the basket. With a laugh and a clap of his hands he was turning to leave again.

“Well I’m glad. It’s about time too.”

 

“Out, Jefferson.” Gold grumbled. “We have lunch to get to.”

“I know, I know.” Jefferson laughed. “I hope it’s just as productive as your weekend!”

He was out the door before Gold could bark another threat at him. Gold sighed, but Belle was laughing.

“How did he find out anyway?”

“There was alot of alcohol involved. I never meant to tell him.”

“Ah. Still it’s a good thing you did.” She’d taken the picnic basket in one of her arms, wrapping her other around his arm so that hr breast pressed into it. Her favorite method of teasing that set him ablaze every time. “Right?”

Gold grinned as he pulled her into a kiss. He was kissing Isabelle French. In his own shop. For the whole world to see. She was his. And he was hers.

“I suppose telling him I’d never felt the warmth of a woman wasn’t the worst thing I could have done.”


End file.
